Ad Astra
by nymphxdora
Summary: "Such is the pathway to the stars." After the Battle of Hogwarts, Hermione watches as the surviving members of the Order, Hogwarts affiliates and parents of the dead congregate to mourn and remember.


**Ad Astra**

**Disclaimer: **Anything recognisable belongs to J.K. Rowling. This fic is based on a prompt generated from a random word generator. The prompt is as follows: _Meadow. Rain. Frame. Stars._

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The Wizarding World is celebrating. Of course they are. There are very few witches and wizards still alive who can remember an extended period of time when they weren't plagued by the fear of being struck down, of coming home to see a ghastly skull with a snake slithering between its' teeth hanging, like a dark omen, above their house. A time when their newspapers didn't feed them lies and deceit, when they had a minister they could trust. A time when the only hope wasn't false.

Hermione Granger is one of the few who cannot stand the celebration.

The fireworks send her straight back to the Battle of Hogwarts, straight back to the Forbidden Forest, where she dodged the attacks and fought to stay alive.

She's alive, but so many others aren't. _How can we celebrate when the air reeks of death? _

She is the first to arrive at the meadow at the entrance to the Forbidden Forest, the first to lay a blanket on top of the damp grass. She sits, and she waits, and while she waits she stares at the sky. The rapid onset of dusk has begun and she can see the stars, the little jeweled glimmers from so far away appear in the sky. She silently names each one that she knows, but the ones she doesn't know are the ones that her attention is drawn to.

She remembers an old story her mother had told her, back when her mother was still her mother and not Monica Wilkins. _When we die, we live forever in the stars_. She stares up at the unnamed stars and wonders which one is Fred, which one is Remus, which one is Lavender. She maps them in her head, their constellations and stories forming. Someday, they will be part of legend.

She feels the hole inside of her ache. She aches for her friends, her family, her lost childhood, and she wonders whether all of this was worth it, in the end. She had gotten rid of Voldemort, sure, her name would go down in the history books. But had she lost herself in the process?

Andromeda is the next to arrive, holding baby Teddy in her arms. Hermione glances at the older woman with a start- the resemblance to Bellatrix is uncanny, and she's almost wary of the woman. At first, she hates her to an extent, for not getting involved, for not _helping_ them. But then she sees the tear stains on Andromeda's cheeks, the pain in her eyes, and she remembers that Andromeda is perhaps the worst hit of all of them. The Death Eaters took everyone from her- her husband, her daughter, her son-in-law.

Hermione embraces Andromeda like an old friend and is surprised when the tears begin to prick at the corners of her eyes.

The Weasley family come over a distant hill, looked united but utterly separate. There is one less ginger head, one less face. George's usual, laughing expression is replaced by one of despair. Hermione can't remember ever seeing one twin without the other- it's almost as if George has been brutally sliced in half.

Ron runs to Hermione and pulls her to him. She breathes in his familiar scent of apples and cinnamon and for once, finds some sort of comfort in her life. She holds on tight, not wanting to let go for fear that he too would slip away into the stars and leave her alone, a token of memory.

Molly and Andromeda are both in tears now, holding each other and sobbing for the children that they have lost. Hermione notices Bill and Fleur watching, and notices the way Bill cups Fleur's stomach protectively. It's the first time she's seen the slight bump, and when she looks questioningly at Ron, Ron nods to confirm her thoughts.

_Life moves on after war. _She only wishes that her life would too, but it seems to be stuck in an endless loop of sorrow and pain.

Slowly, more Order members stream in. McGonagall, still wearing her favorite green robes, even though there are burn marks in places where she narrowly dodged curses. Kingsley, his face set in a grim line, his usual purple robes traded for a more somber black. Dung, Diggle, Hagrid, Figg, Dodge, Aberforth…Hermione glances around looking for more, but realizes that there aren't any, that they're all gone.

Hogwarts students and teachers, they're all there, but it's the parents that really get to her. Lavender Brown's parents are barely there for a few moments before her mother breaks down and has to be carted away by McGonagall, who is always a consoling hand. Colin Creevey's father is shaking and little Dennis (although, Hermione thinks, he's not so little anymore. The war has made him, like so many others, a man) looks as if he is about to crumple at any moment. Hermione wants to say something, _do _something, but for once, she doesn't know what. There are no books about this, no instructions clearly printed on a page of parchment. This isn't an O.W.L. or a N.E.W.T., oh no. This is a trial of real life.

Fireworks erupt in the background- some wizard, somewhere is cheering the death of the common enemy, not realizing that he should be mourning the deaths of the common friends. It hurts Hermione physically.

Harry is the last to arrive. He walks in slowly, nervously and it seems to Hermione that he doesn't want to be there. Over and over he had said that he never wanted anyone to die for him, and yet so many are gone. She knows it must be hurting him, that he must hate himself. She hates herself too- for not figuring out and finding the Horcruxes faster, for not defending the dead, for not finding out a way to save everyone.

He glances at her and she tries to muster up an encouraging smile, but fails. She doesn't have the energy, nor the remaining emotion to smile. She thinks he will understand- after all, she assumes he feels the same way. The press has been hounding him ever since the Battle, but he has refused all interviews. Hermione thinks that if she were to be in his shoes, she'd do exactly the same.

Hermione watches as Harry takes his place front-center. He begins to speak, and his voice, although soft, reverberates across the meadow. "Thank you all for coming today," his voice is damaged, she notes. Different. "We gather in memory of those who lost their lives at the Battle of Hogwarts. They fought bravely and their sacrifice was…is not in vain. We will never forget them."

He begins to recite the names of the dead, commenting on each person's individual contributions and bravery. Hermione thinks that most people would need some sort of list, a prompter of some kind to be able to do this, but Harry doesn't. He knows them as well as he knows that Monday comes after Sunday, that seven days make a week. Hermione knows them too and she mouths the names silently along with Harry, naming the faces that haunt her in her dreams.

The rain begins halfway through the list, but nobody runs for cover. Harry does not even pause. Instead, they stand together, a puzzle with too many pieces missing to be called whole, but with an image still faintly discernible. Little Teddy Lupin begins to cry, another voice in the woeful chorus.

When Harry is done, he pauses and glances around the congregation. Hermione does the same, taking in the ashen faces, the pained eyes. Something about them provides her comfort- it proves that she is not alone. She's stopped going out in the Wizarding World because she cannot bear the comfortable smiles on everyone's faces. Now, she feels as if she is with those who have experienced similar, wrenching pains.

Harry is the first to lay down a wedge of stone. One by one, each mourner adds another piece, building a frame and foundation for the monument that will stand as a memory to the lives lost, to the pain felt. A monument to compensate for death, to stand as a portal for the ghosts that lurked.

Hermione's piece of stone is near the base.

An hour later, she is the last one there. Ron tried to get her to come home, to come to the Burrow, enticing her with promises of Molly's hot soup, but he understood that she couldn't.

The rain drips off her matted curls and she stands, staring at the heap of marble in front of her. It doesn't mean as much to her as the stars do, she thinks, as she glances up at the silken blanket they call the night, interwoven with the diamonds of spirits.

_'Sic itur ad astra,' _she whispers. _And thus, you shall go to the stars._

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**A/N**: I hope you enjoyed it! Please leave a review as to what you liked/didn't like, as well as whether or not it was believable (it's my first time writing something that's centered around the Golden Trio, rather than minor characters or Next-Gen). This will remain a one-shot, however the monument may make an appearance in _The Escapades of Teddy Lupin._


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